


A Real Piece of Art

by townshend



Category: Hotel Dusk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-03-13
Updated: 2011-03-12
Packaged: 2017-10-16 22:16:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/169924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/townshend/pseuds/townshend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hyde's new "case" is just a little too strange for his liking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Real Piece of Art

The Los Angeles autumn was muggy and warm, as if summer hadn't quite been ready to throw in the towel and call it a day just yet. It wasn't like New York, where seasons came and went and it was too damn cold too soon - LA had its own schedule, and Hyde had learned to live by it again.

It was Monday, October 20, 1980 - almost ten months since Hotel Dusk, that damn red box, and the angel painting that had put the nail in the proverbial coffin. The sun was going down on, incidentally, Sunset Boulevard, and Hyde strolled down it, his thoughts wandering.

After the incident in the hotel, he'd taken a vacation. Initially, he'd told Rachel he was going for three months, but after just one month of driving aimlessly around the country (while staunchly avoiding the East Coast) he already realized that tourist traps and dodgy-looking motels weren't his cup of tea and gas was expensive when Ed wasn't paying him back the mileage. He held out for another month before throwing in the towel. Driving without purpose felt wrong and in the end he felt like he was still searching for something - just not something he could place.

"Figure if I'm gonna feel that way I might as well be gettin' paid for it," he had told Rachel, and she'd made an understanding noise and said something involving calling him "honey" before giving him his next assignment.

He'd been back in LA for two weeks now, which was good. His apartment had been gathering a thick layer of dust he needed to take care of, and Rachel had seemed pleased to see him. There was a new "side job" for him to do, and she grinned as she handed him the file.

"How often do I get to do that in person?" she teased.

"Yeah, yeah." Hyde had taken the file and waved as he headed out the door. Ed hadn't been in, as usual, or he'd probably want to go over it all with Hyde himself. Fine with him. Ed signed the checks, but Hyde worked better alone these days.

He didn't flip through the file as he walked - instead, Hyde stepped into the first bar he saw almost on a whim, file in one hand.

It was a classy sort of joint - not the kind of place that Hyde usually went, but he needed some place to think and a drink to take off the edge, and he was all out of bourbon at home.

The bar was all lit up, but the back corners of the room still stayed dark, and Hyde took a dim booth towards the back wall and set the file in front of him, casually flipping the manilla folder open and beginning to read.

The night was getting on now. Hyde flipped through the papers, frowning. After a moment, he leaned back against the booth, resting his head there, eyes closed. The smell of smoke permeated the bar and Hyde reveled in it. No matter where he was, this smell was familiar, constant. He'd never smoked himself, but hell, it seemed like everyone else did. His hand absently slid into his jacket pocket, taking the silver lighter in his hand and passing his thumb over it back and forth.

The cocktail waitress brought his bourbon and Hyde took a drink, savoring the flavor. He'd had better - maybe even in the last year - but it wasn't bad. (Say what you want about Louie, and Hyde probably wouldn't stop you - but the man knew how to serve up a drink.) He glanced back down to his file, scanning through the lines. From the bar, there was a tinkling laugh, and Hyde glanced up, his attention wavering.

Just some blonde dame at the bar in a little red thing with a glass of wine. She was sitting beside a well-dressed man with a glass of alcohol and a warm smile on his face. At first, Hyde didn't recognize him - it was only when he glanced back down to the papers on his table that he really processed what he'd just seen. The face had looked familiar… not the dame, but the--

It struck Hyde like a car going the wrong way on the freeway.

 _Bradley?_

For a full minute, Hyde stared blankly at the file, his eyes boring through it, feeling the waves of shock washing over him.

 _"And so I'm on the run now. Nile wants me dead. Cops want me dead. Some life, huh, partner?"_

Then how the hell was he out and about? A night on the town? A date with some classy dame?

When Hyde looked up, the couple had stepped away from the bar, leaving half-empty glasses and a pile of cash the bartender was collecting. Hyde saw the door swing shut.

File discarded, he bolted up from his booth and out of the bar, his entire body trembling - but by the time he got outside, the couple was gone, the curb deserted. All he could see was a cab speeding off down the street towards LA's lower downtown.

Hyde panted for breath, watching Bradley speed out of his life once again. It was him, wasn't it? His hair was shorter (almost Hyde's length, actually) but Hyde had recognized that face, that posture, that smile. It _was_ him. It had to be.

 _Maybe the bartender will know something._

Slowly stepping into the bar, Hyde approached the lit-up counter. He slowly took a seat at the stool where Bradley had been, his stomach turning. The bartender glanced towards him curiously.

"Somethin' I can help you with?" he asked.

"Yeah," Hyde said, finally, nodding. "You know the guy who was just in here?"

The bartender frowned.

"Can't say I do," he said. "First time I seen 'em in here. I figure they're probably honeymoonin' or somethin'. Tourists." He shrugged. "Why? You a cop or somethin'?"

"No," Hyde said, quickly. Why did people always ask him that question? Did he really still have the cop stink on him three years later? "Just thought he looked like an old friend of mine."

"Ah." The tender looked thoughtful. "I think I heard 'em mention somethin' about headin' to Jerry's for dinner tomorrow night. It's one of them upper-class French deals down on the west end. Maybe you can meet 'em there?" He laughed, shaking his head. "You'd better not be some kinda crazy stalker, pal."

"Wouldn't wanna interrupt a nice date," Hyde said idly, but the gears were already turning in his head. Maybe he could wait outside, try to get another glimpse to confirm his suspicions. He was playing detective again…

"Well, good luck," the bartender said, nodding and turning back to his work. Hyde took it as a cue to leave, and he slowly stood from the bar chair.

 _"Stop looking for me, Kyle. My way is a dead-end street. Let me go. I'm a ghost now."_

Numbly, Hyde moved towards the back booth, setting down a couple dollars cash for a tip and grabbing up his folder.

Bradley was here. In LA. It didn't make any sense. Last he'd heard from Ed, the LAPD was heading up a big task force to take care of Nile. Nile _and_ the cops - two things Bradley didn't want or need anything to do with. So what the hell was he doing in the one place that spelled bad news for him? If it were Hyde, he'd camp out somewhere quiet - Seattle, Denver, hell, somewhere in _Canada_. The only place worse than LA was _New York_ , and even that was arguable.

 _Bradley... what are you up to?_

 

 

Bradley hadn't come in to work on time, but that wasn't a big deal. For once, the streets seemed pretty quiet, and anything that was going on was something the small-timers could handle on their own. Hyde reclined in his chair, head tipped back, feet on his desk, eyes closed. He was not built for these late-night shifts. Out on the streets doing the _real_ work was one thing - the movement and adrenaline kept him going - but sitting at a desk all night was a one-way ticket to dreamland as far as Hyde was concerned.

He was pretty sure he'd drifted off. He was certain he _must_ have.

The phone rang, sharply, jolting him awake. Hyde nearly fell out of his chair, scrambling to figure out where he was and what he was doing as the third ring sounded, sleep still rubbing away at him.

"Hyde!" A voice called. "Answer the damn phone!"

Sitting up, Hyde grabbed for it, pushing the receiver to his ear.

"'Tective Hyde, NYPD," he answered, voice slurred with exhaustion.

"Hyde," the voice on the other end said, as if relieved he'd reached the right person. Hyde didn't recognize the voice, but the could recognize the notes of desperation and anger in it. "It's Bradley. He's-- he's on the take!"

Hyde was pretty sure he did a lot in those next few minutes - the voice on the line must have told him _where_ to go, and Hyde must have slammed the receiver down and pulled his coat on before jumping in his cruiser - but he didn't remember any of it, and it seemed like everything was moving too fast for it to be real. The next time he was actually fully aware of himself and what he was doing, he was standing on a dock at the harbor, his gun raised at his partner's back.

 _"Bradley!"_ he screamed, his arm shaking, threatening his aim. The man began to turn, and although his movement was slow, Hyde's adrenaline was pumping too fast through his blood and the movement scared him - he fired, the crack of the gun too loud, the jerk of Bradley's body across the next few inches of dock too impossible and terrifying to be real. He took a plunge into the water, and--

The phone was ringing again. The... phone? That didn't make sense--

Hyde jerked, and sat straight up in bed, gasping.

He hadn't had that dream in ten months.

The goddamn phone _was_ ringing. Hyde reached for it, running on automatic. At first, he almost answered the way he would have almost four goddamn years ago.

"Hyde. And this had better be important," he greeted instead.

"Were you sleeping?" a sweet voice asked. Hyde knew that voice. Rachel. He peered at the bedside clock, frowning. It was nearing 1 AM.

"Yeah," he admitted. "Which is what you should be doing," he grumbled. "Not that you need your beauty sleep."

"A charmer." Rachel sounded amused enough. "Sorry I woke you, handsome. Ed wants to let you know that the file I gave you needs to be sorted out in the next twenty-four hours or so. It wasn't stamped with a date, so he thought I should give you a call so you don't drag your feet."

Hyde sighed, slumping back against the bed, eyes closing.

"I know, I know." Hyde could hear Rachel shifting, likely holding the phone against her shoulder. Hyde could picture her, legs crossed, filing her nails as she talked to him. "Tell you what, tiger. Take a few minutes. Wake yourself up. Get a nice, warm shower and a cup of coffee and get a headstart on it. Once it's done, I'll make sure you get a couple days off to sleep as long as you like."

Hyde grunted in response. After a moment, "Okay. Fine."

"That's what I like to hear." Rachel's voice was smiling for her. "Thanks, Kyle. You familiar with the building?"

Hyde tried to remember what he'd read in the file. Really, everything there had flown out of his mind as soon as he'd seen Bradley, and it was hard to focus on anything else. "Uh... yeah. Condemned place off Shady Grove Boulevard."

"Not 'condemned', per se," Rachel replied. Hyde reached over, bracing himself as he flicked on his side table lamp. Uhg. "The building's owners just aren't allowing any new tenants. I think only two people actually live there, besides the manager. It is pretty run-down, though. A lot of empty apartments, no maintenance team. You might wanna take some bug bombs."

"Haha," Hyde said, lamely. "That all?"

"For now. Try not to get into any trouble."

"Well, I'll _try_ ," Hyde answered, sighing. It was the answer Rachel wanted, and she giggled in response.

"See ya."

He hung up the phone, sitting up in bed. God. It was too early for this.

Hyde did what Rachel said, taking a moment sitting at the edge of the bed, just thinking. He reached for the file on the bedside table and flicked it open, glancing through it.

The item in question - a small sketch was attached, but it didn't look like much - was an old-looking metal and wooden sculpture from the description in the shape of a naked woman holding an apple and sitting on a box. Apparently, the woman could come separate from the box, and jewellery could be stored inside. It was run-of-the-mill - the same sort of thing Hyde was usually sent to find. The note stated that the item was "antique" and that the utmost care must be taken in order to preserve it - meaning, Hyde figured, that he couldn't exactly throw it around like a toy. "It's a real piece of art," the note continued, "and it is of the utmost importance".

A piece of art?

As Hyde showered and shaved, he mulled over the whole situation. Bradley was in town for no good reason. Hyde had a new case at this weird building nobody had been allowed to live in for years. And the thing that was missing? A "real piece of art" that had one hell of a recovery time on it - enough to keep Rachel at the office and get Hyde out of bed.

It stank. Needless to say, Hyde didn't like any of this one bit.


End file.
